I found Doggy at the bottom of a damp box, labeled, Memories. In my basement where all that happens is laundry and storage, I sifted through my childhood. Since he died, my old toys and stuffed animals, my baby blankets and stuffed animals, they won’t stop yelling my name, scratching at my skin.
I might’ve missed the rat this morning if I hadn’t been kept awake all night, by the boxes in my basement. It’s been raining this week so it all kind of smells like water. The trashcans stand on the side of the road waiting to be swept off their feet. No blessings or goodbyes for the dead-pest-thing. Now, my breath blows warm through prayer hands. With an old Barbie bow, I tied the chopsticks together in a cross, to mark the resting place. The bag crinkled and sounded like rain on a rooftop as I lowered the rat into the ground and shoveled dirt and mud on top of it. With my knees going numb against the grass, I turned dirt over, dug into the grass with the shovel drew the rat a grave. The chopsticks from last week’s Chinese stuck out of my pocket. I took the rat and the makeshift burial tool to the backyard. It slid off the end of the shovel into an old takeout bag from my kitchen. In the house I grabbed the shovel from the fireplace. And I wondered if anyone was coming for it, to bury it. Its eyes reflected sparkles of the almost morning light. After I got the bag into the trash and shut the lid, I bent over and stared at the rat. Its coat, all grey with little white hairs hiding in it, could’ve been made of eyelashes if it wasn’t a rodent.
#Stuffed bone gag full
The bag, full of food scraps and junk mail, stuffed animals and dream journals, started to rip where my old Barbie’s feet push through the plastic. I clenched the neck of a bulging trash bag. Eyes open but not awake, it stopped me in my tracks. It was just lying there in forever-sleep. My knees sink into the mud and grass while I try and think of a prayer.
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